


Heartlines

by mrs_d



Series: Fingers Interlaced [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Eventual Porn, Holding Hands, M/M, Masturbation, Metal arm porn, Pining, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Polyamory: V-shaped relationship, Porn with Feelings, Protective Sam Wilson, Sam-Centric, Sam/Bucky is main pairing, Steve/Bucky is background, V-Shaped Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-20 04:38:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5991934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_d/pseuds/mrs_d
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The fact of the matter was, if Bucky were any other guy, Sam would probably be sleeping with him. Instead, Bucky was across the hall. With Steve, where he belonged.</p><p>But that swoop that hit Sam’s stomach whenever he thought about Bucky — like he was flying, or maybe falling — it wasn’t going away. It was starting to feel like a click, like there was something here, like maybe Bucky was flying or falling with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thank yous go to [Hekkenfeldt](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Hekkenfeldt) for reading something much longer than she normally would in order to offer me some insightful beta, and to my ex-husband, who unwittingly inspired this series.
> 
> Title comes from the Florence + The Machine song.

It took a long time for Bucky to agree to let Stark and Dr. Cho take a look at his hand. Not that Sam could blame Buck for being hesitant — years of being treated by evil doctors bent on testing the limits of human endurance would make anybody nervous.

But finally, after six months of Sam, Bucky, and Steve living together in Brooklyn, five months of which Bucky spent frowning at his hand, and four months of which Steve spent reminding him that there were people other than SHIELD and HYDRA who could check it out for him, Bucky emerged from his and Steve’s bedroom one fall morning wearing a look of grim determination.

Sam, who had just finished his toast and was scrolling Facebook on his phone, glanced up. Bucky was wearing a tight red t-shirt that showed off every curve of his chest and abdomen, but Sam took in Bucky’s set jaw and stiff posture more than anything else. He knew that Bucky would only talk when he was ready, so he poured a cup of Steve’s gut-destroying coffee and slid it across the table.

Bucky hesitated, then sat down and wrapped his left hand around the steaming mug. “I’m going to Stark Tower today,” he announced. “About my hand.”

“That’s good,” Sam replied, matching Bucky’s matter-of-fact tone.

“Will you come with me?” Bucky asked.

Sam was surprised, but he smiled, about to say yes, when he remembered. “I can’t,” he sighed. “I picked up some shifts for Melinda this week, and I’m running a group.”

Bucky nodded. “It’s okay, I understand.”

“Sorry, man,” Sam said earnestly. “I’d be there if I could.”

“I know.”

“Why don’t you ask Steve to go with you?” Sam asked, pouring himself some more juice.

He was sure the suggestion would go over well; Steve and Bucky went almost everywhere together — joined at the hip, as Sam’s mother would say — but Bucky pursed his lips as he measured out the mountain of sugar he liked to put in his coffee. He frowned slightly while he stirred.

“He already is.”

“You don’t want him there?” Sam asked, taken aback.

“He worries,” Bucky explained. “Flutters. Can’t sit still.”

Sam nodded; Bucky wasn’t wrong, and Sam could see how Steve’s nerves would be distracting if Bucky was already anxious about Stark’s tests.

“You’re easy to be around,” Bucky mumbled. “I like you.”

Sam was touched. “Thanks,” he replied, and they shared a little smile.

A few minutes later, when Sam got to his feet to take his plate and glass to the sink, Bucky added, “Do you want to meet up after?”

Sam turned around. “Sure, if you like. Where?”

Bucky was biting his lip, obviously nervous, but he carried on. “In Manhattan? We could — we could have dinner. Or something.”

Sam smiled again, hoping to put Bucky at ease. “Absolutely.”

Bucky’s face cleared, and he nodded.

All at once, Sam remembered that Steve would probably be tagging along. “Let me know where you and Steve want to eat, and I’ll join you,” he added guiltily, like he hadn’t just forgotten his best friend existed.

“Uh,” said Bucky, but he didn’t get a chance to go on because Steve chose that moment to enter the kitchen, his hair still damp from the shower.

“Morning,” he greeted them, and he grabbed a mug to pour himself some coffee before bending over to give Bucky a quick, soft kiss. Sam averted his eyes.

“Hi. Bye,” he said. “I’ve got to get moving now that the shower’s _finally_ free.”

“Hey,” Steve protested. 

“Later,” Sam chuckled and headed down the hall.

As he closed the bathroom door, he heard Steve ask, “So what’d he say?” but, if Bucky replied, Sam didn’t hear it.

* * *

After his last group session of the day, Sam was finishing up paperwork when his phone, still on silent, blinked at him. He picked it up to see a text from Bucky.

_Still here. Stark says almost done, hope he’s right. Steve’s stuck in a meeting so just u & me for dinner. Meet @ QH at 7:30?_

For a second, all Sam could see was _just u & me _— something was weird there — but then he took in the rest of the message and frowned slightly. QH was short for _Quê Hương_ , one of Bucky’s favorite Viet-Thai places in Manhattan. Sam hoped that didn’t mean Bucky was unnerved and looking for something familiar.

 _Sounds good_ , he texted back. Then, because it was true, but also just in case Bucky needed some reassurance to get through the last of the tests, he added, _Looking forward to it._

 _Me 2 :)_ Bucky replied immediately.

Sam grinned and turned the volume up on his phone before he tucked it away. He had just a little more work to do, then he could head over to get the train.

* * *

There was a funny swoop in the pit of Sam’s stomach, like he got when he was flying, when he arrived at the restaurant and saw that Bucky was waiting for him outside, leaning against a bus stop sign and lifting a cigarette to his lips.

Then Bucky noticed him, and some of the easy grace went out of his movements. He dropped his smoke and pushed off the sign to stand up straight, stepping on the cigarette like it was an afterthought.

“Hey,” Sam greeted him as he approached.

“Hi,” Bucky replied. “It’s, uh, good to see you.”

Sam smiled. “You, too.”

There was a pause, just long enough to be awkward. “So, are we going to eat out here, or are we going in?” Sam joked.

Bucky jumped at the suggestion, all but tripping in his hurry to get the door for Sam, who tried to hide his surprise — he hadn’t thought it was physically possible for Bucky to stumble.

Bucky gave him an anxious smile as he passed through the door. Sam hadn’t seen that look in a while, but he recognized it, and he decided to give Bucky an out if he needed it.

“I won’t be upset if you want to change your mind, you know,” he told Bucky in a low voice when they’d reached the hostess station, which was, for the moment, abandoned. “I’d understand.”

His words weren’t as reassuring as Sam had hoped. Bucky’s eyes widened; he looked hurt for an instant, then he went blank. Bracing himself, Sam thought.

“No, I— I want to be here,” Bucky enunciated clearly, which Sam knew was a good sign, since Bucky still struggled sometimes to express a direct wish. “Unless you don’t.”

“I do. We’ll stay,” Sam declared. He waited a beat before adding, “But you’d better not eat all my spring rolls, or you may find yourself with sriracha in your eye.”

It was an old joke, from the last time the three of them had come here, but Bucky snorted with sudden laughter nonetheless, and Sam felt a little burst of pride. The hostess returned then, and Sam requested a table with a good view of the room — Bucky always felt safer when he had clear sightlines, and he sent Sam a little grateful smile.

Sam noticed a whirring sound, louder than usual, as Bucky took his coat off. Puzzled, he glanced at the arm, well covered by a long sleeve and a thin leather glove.

Bucky caught him looking and shrugged, which also made the arm groan. “Stark said it’ll quiet down in a couple hours. He just tightened some screws or something.”

“Does it even have screws?” Sam asked before he could stop himself.

When Bucky hesitated, Sam looked up into his face and noticed it was tight and a little pale again.

“I don’t know,” Bucky said slowly. “I really wasn’t looking.”

Sam winced and ducked his head to look at the menu. Silence fell between them again, and Sam could have kicked himself for ruining the easy mood so soon after they’d got it back.

But a few minutes later, Bucky asked Sam about his day at work, and Sam told him of the latest misadventures of the high school intern, who’d tried to use the coffee maker for hot chocolate and ended up with a sticky, steaming mess in the break room. Bucky laughed, and the waitress came back to take their orders, and, before Sam knew it, the awkwardness had faded away.

Somewhere around the middle of the meal, Sam realized that Bucky had his left hand on the table, its gloved palm facing up, its fingers only a few inches from Sam’s plate. He frowned a little — normally Bucky kept his left arm tucked away while he was in public — but he didn’t mention it. If Bucky was trying this out, trying to be comfortable with his arm in a way he hadn’t before, it probably had something to do with the work Stark had done today, and the last thing Bucky needed was for Sam to bring that up again.


	2. Chapter 2

The pattern — Stark Tower, dinner in Manhattan — repeated itself in the following weeks. Bucky’s appointments always seemed to fall on days Sam was working, but Bucky never minded when Sam said he could only hang out afterwards. Sam didn’t mind either, though he was starting to get a little weirded out by the fact that Steve never joined them.

Bucky got less awkward every time — the sessions at the Tower must be going better, Sam thought on the fifth night, as he saw Bucky leaning in his usual spot, smoking.

Sam’s stomach gave that funny jolt again. He took a second to admire Bucky’s black boots, tight blue jeans, and leather jacket before he forced himself to stop. He wasn’t supposed to be checking out his best friend’s boyfriend — _one of the great loves of Captain America’s life_ , his brain supplied helpfully — even if the guy looked like sex on a stick some days.

“Hey, Fly Boy,” Bucky called as Sam approached. He dropped his cigarette and stepped on it, exhaling smoke to the side, so it wouldn’t go in Sam’s face.

“Hey,” Sam replied, grinning at the nickname, which was relatively new. “You know those things’ll kill you, right?” he teased.

Bucky shrugged with his right shoulder. “I had a good run.”

Sam opened his mouth to protest, but Bucky rolled his eyes.

“I’m kidding, jeez,” he said, giving Sam’s shoulder a friendly tap. “I know they’re not good for me. But seriously: if falling off a mountain and being in and out of the freezer didn’t kill me, I doubt a little tobacco will do it.”

With an effort, Sam nodded, biting back all the things he wanted to say about how much cigarettes had changed in the last seventy years, how tobacco was probably the least harmful ingredient in them anymore. If Bucky was happy and playful, Sam wasn’t going to ruin it.

“Does it bother you?” Bucky asked more seriously, when Sam stayed silent. “Because I won’t do it if it bugs you. I’ve been thinking of quitting anyway, so—”

“It’s fine,” Sam said quickly. “I won’t stop you if you want to quit, but don’t do it on my account.”

Bucky grinned, clearly relieved. “Okay. You ready to go in?”

“Sure,” said Sam.

Bucky got the door for him — Sam had given up on protesting that two weeks ago — and added, “I don’t even know why I do it, you know.”

“What, smoke?”

“Yeah. I guess it’s just familiar.”

“I get that,” Sam said, thinking of how his grandfather smoked like a chimney, even after he knew he had lung cancer. “They don’t call it a habit for nothing.”

“True. Plus,” Bucky added in an undertone, as the hostess, who recognized them by now, led them to their table, “we both know it makes me look sexy.”

Sam’s mouth went dry, and he felt his cheeks start to heat. Had he been that obvious?

Bucky left his metal hand on the table again — he’d been doing that a lot lately — but tonight he took the glove off and actually seemed to want to talk about it.

“Stark and Cho, they’re working on improving sensitivity,” he said in a low voice just after the waitress brought their meals.

“Wow,” Sam replied. “They can do that?”

“They think so.” Bucky shrugged. “They’re trying, anyhow.”

“Improving,” Sam repeated thoughtfully. “So, you can’t really feel much?”

“I can feel a bit,” Bucky began, but then he hesitated. “It’s easier if I just— here, can I—?”

He set down his chopsticks suddenly, reaching out with his right hand for Sam’s left. At Sam’s nod, Bucky took it.

Sam let him move it how he wanted it, which was palm up. Bucky ran a finger along the line that ran from under his pinky up to the space between his index and middle fingers — the heart line, Sam thought, but he wasn’t sure; it was his sister who was into that mumbo-jumbo stuff in high school, not him.

Sam twitched slightly as Bucky’s fingers kept moving, tracing the lines of Sam’s palm down to the wrist and back up. The touch was a strange intimacy, but warm and welcome. It tickled, but not in a way that made Sam want to laugh — it was more like a subtle electric charge, making him tingle.  

“You feel that?” Bucky asked, his voice a bit husky.  

Sam swallowed hard and nodded.

“I miss that,” Bucky murmured.

He flattened his palm on top of Sam’s, almost like they were holding hands. Sam was a little surprised, but he didn’t pull away.

When Bucky’s warm hand closed around his, though, Sam had to. Bucky was Steve’s, and it just didn’t feel right to be holding his hand at dinner. He cleared his throat and wormed his hand out from under Bucky’s, so he could reach for his glass of water, telling himself that he was imagining the flash of confused hurt in Bucky’s eyes.

“So you don’t feel anything?” Sam asked a minute later, in an almost-normal voice.

Bucky frowned thoughtfully, picking up his chopsticks again. “If there’s pressure — too much — it’s like pain. I think. But little touches, no.” His mouth twisted wryly. “Except on the thumb and trigger finger.”

Sam tried not to let his horror show when it hit him a second later that Bucky had no feeling in most of his hand because HYDRA hadn’t needed it. HYDRA didn’t need him to feel anything besides how much pressure to put on the trigger they wanted pulled.  

“Stark and Cho think they can do it,” Bucky said, sounding cautiously optimistic. “If I have some feeling already, they’re pretty sure they can get me all of it.”

“That’s good,” said Sam, maybe a little too enthusiastically.

“I might need brain surgery, though,” Bucky added, almost nonchalantly.

Sam winced internally. It was moments like these — when Bucky physically couldn’t show fear, or on really bad days when he literally couldn’t tell anyone what he wanted — that Sam’s heart broke for him all over again.

“It’ll be okay,” Sam said, but Bucky didn’t seem to hear him. His eyes were blank and unfocused.

Sam hesitated, remembering what he’d just told himself about holding hands, then slowly reached across the table and took Bucky’s left hand in his own, the way Bucky had been touching him a minute ago. The metal was slightly warm, but smooth, the ridges of the plating hardly noticeable. Nonetheless, there was no way that Sam would mistake it for skin. He wasn’t sure he’d want to.

Bucky blinked, seeming to come out of a daze, and studied their joined hands with a detached curiosity.

“Steve hates it,” he mumbled after a moment.

The name re-activated Sam’s guilt, and he tried to pull back, but Bucky wouldn’t let him. He gripped Sam around the wrist and held on.

“Don’t,” he said quietly. “I can’t really feel it, but — don’t.”

“Okay,” Sam agreed, and he settled his hand on Bucky’s again. “He hates it?” he repeated.

“Might have something to do with the fact that I nearly beat him to death with it,” Bucky elaborated.

Sam didn’t reply, but silently he agreed. He thought of how he never saw Steve hold Bucky’s left hand or kiss it like he did Bucky’s right hand when he was being sappy or silly. If Steve knew Bucky couldn’t feel it, then that would explain it. But he’d also noticed that Steve would sometimes dance around Bucky’s left hand when he reached for something — not a flinch, but not exactly not a flinch, either. It made Sam hurt for both of them.

He shifted his grip on Bucky’s hand, turning it so he could run the pad of his thumb along the outer edge of the trigger — index — finger. Bucky drew in a small, surprised breath and glanced down.

“Sorry,” said Sam immediately, lowering his thumb.

“No,” Bucky replied, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Do that again.”

Sam did, sliding all the way down to the spot between his forefinger and thumb.

This time, Bucky made a sound that was almost a giggle.

Sam laughed, too, in startled pleasure. “What, are you ticklish?” he teased.

Bucky stilled Sam’s thumb with his own and squeezed Sam’s hand. “You know, I think I might be,” he said with a smile that Sam couldn’t help but mirror.  

Sam held on a little longer, only letting go when the waitress came back to check on them a few minutes later.

They didn’t hold hands again for the rest of the meal, but every once in a while, Sam noticed Bucky running his thumb up and down the outside of his forefinger and smiling a little every time he did.

* * *

That night, Sam couldn’t sleep.

He came close a few times — he felt sleep washing over him, pulling him under — but then he’d replay the evening in his mind. And what he kept coming back to was that he had had no right to hold his best friend’s boyfriend’s hand over dinner.

Even if Bucky had wanted to touch him, and Sam had wanted to let him.

Sam flipped over and glared at the ceiling. It was just hand-holding. It wasn’t like he’d kissed Bucky or fucked him. They’d just had dinner together, and talked, and...

And Sam had gone out with Bucky once a week for over a month now. Without Steve.

Not that Steve seemed to mind; he never acted any differently toward Sam, never seemed to get jealous or resentful of the time Bucky spent with him. Sam told himself that that was a sign of true trust, a healthy relationship. But the fact of the matter was, if Bucky were any other guy, and if the circumstances were different, Sam would probably be sleeping with him by now. Instead, Bucky was across the hall.

With Steve, where he belonged.

But that familiar swooping sensation that hit Sam’s stomach whenever he thought about Bucky — like he was flying, or maybe falling — it wasn’t going away. Worse, it was starting to feel like more than a swoop. It was starting to feel like a click, like this was right, like there was something here. Like maybe Bucky was flying or falling with him. Bucky, who could just as easily kill someone as charm them; Bucky, who smiled at him over spring rolls and called him Fly Boy; Bucky, who—

And that was when Sam realized what was really keeping him awake: he wasn’t feeling guilty about holding his best friend’s boyfriend’s hand. He was feeling guilty because he was falling in love with the guy.

Sam sighed deeply and found tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. He’d have to stop seeing Bucky. Maybe even move out.

Damn, but that thought hurt.

He lay awake another hour, his mind tossing and turning as much as his body, before he got up and brought his laptop to bed. He watched stupid comedies on Netflix until dawn, but he didn’t laugh much.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam got through the next week, but just barely. It helped that Steve and Bucky often had plans of some sort, so he had the townhouse to himself when he wasn’t working. He didn’t get much sleep, and he felt bad about avoiding his roommates, but every time he saw Steve and Bucky together, he felt a pang somewhere in the middle of his chest, and he had to leave the room.

After work one afternoon, Sam realized he was tired of sitting around watching television, so he decided he would make cookies. He went to the corner store, not having the energy for the supermarket, and bought what he needed to make his grandmother’s famous triple chocolate chip cookies.

After cleaning up the kitchen, he ate five of the damn things with a tall glass of milk. He savored the temporary sugar rush, and, when it faded, he curled up in his bed and fell asleep.

* * *

He woke up in the dark with that foggy after-a-nap feeling. It took him a few minutes to sort out where he was and why. Eventually, he fumbled over to turn on his lamp and grabbed his phone to check the time.

There was a text from Bucky and one from Steve.

 _We’re over at the Bungalow, you should come grab a beer with us!_ Bucky had sent at 7:38.

 _Hey, you all right in there?_ Steve had sent at 9:02.

Great, Sam thought. They were worried, and Sam couldn’t explain anything or make them feel better. He groaned and slumped back onto the pillow.

It was kind of late — around 11 — but he’d gone to bed at 5:30 and skipped dinner, so he figured he should get up and eat something before trying to go back to sleep. He kicked his legs out from under the blanket and sat up, hesitating one more second before he stood and headed for the door.  

Speak of the devils, Sam thought, when he realized there was a lamp on low in the living room, and the TV was whispering out a laugh track. He forced a smile and started heading down the hall.

“Oh, right there,” he heard Bucky hiss suddenly. “Fuck, that makes me shiver.”

Sam froze — he did _not_ need to overhear this, not tonight, not ever — but he heard his name, which stopped him from turning and running back to his room.

“Sam found that spot,” Bucky was saying. “At dinner the other night.”

“Oh, he did, did he?” asked Steve, low and flirty. “At dinner?”

“Shut your mouth,” Bucky replied. “You know we’re not there yet.”

There? Sam thought. What was there? He took a silent step forward.

The sofa creaked as Steve continued in a more normal tone. “And you know you’d get there a lot faster if you actually told him you were trying to date him.”

Sam’s jaw dropped.

Bucky groaned. “Can’t you do it?”

“Oh, no,” Steve laughed. “I told you in 1943, you’re not dragging me into any more double date scenarios.”

There was that word again, Sam thought, suddenly aware of his heart pounding in his chest. 

“This used to be so easy for me,” Bucky sighed.

Sam’s feet seemed to be moving of their own volition, closer to the living room, toward the quiet hurt in Bucky’s voice.

“But I get all tongue-tied now,” he went on. “I told you about that first night, right? I’m pretty sure he thought I was having an episode.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry, Buck.”

“It’s not your fault. And it’s getting easier, but—”

Bucky’s words ended with a wet sound; Steve had kissed Bucky, Sam knew it. He licked his own lips, wondering what Bucky tasted like.

“But you know,” Bucky went on, almost wheedling now, “it wouldn’t be a double date. More like a... three-way.”

Sam’s heart stopped, but Steve just laughed again. “Pal, you might want to Google that before you go saying it to Sam.”

“I know what it means, doll,” said Bucky. Sam had never heard him sound so pouty, and it was doing remarkable things to the pit of his stomach.

“Oh. Well then, my mistake,” Steve chuckled.

There was another lengthy pause — definitely a kiss this time, a sloppy one by the sounds of it. Sam swallowed hard, since his throat was like cotton.

“But you’re okay with this, right?” Bucky added suddenly, in a serious, breathless tone.

An obscenely wet noise followed; Steve wasn’t kissing Bucky’s mouth. Sam pressed his lips together as he felt his cock, already sensitive, perk up behind his pyjama pants.

“Yes, I’m okay with this,” said Steve reassuringly after a moment. “I love you, and I want you to be happy, Buck, you know that.”

“Okay,” said Bucky.

“But you have to tell him,” Steve insisted.

“Okay,” Bucky said again.

Steve made a little humming noise, and Bucky gasped. Sam bit his bottom lip, hard, to keep from doing the same.

“Promise you’ll tell him? Soon?” said Steve firmly.

“Yes. Yes, I promise.” Bucky sounded like he was so turned on he’d agree to anything.

More wet noises and gasps followed. Sam found he could picture the scene a little too well: Steve’s pink mouth around Bucky’s cock; his hands, paler than Bucky’s skin, digging into his hips, his thighs. Sam wondered if Bucky had his metal fingers buried in Steve’s hair.

Then the couch cushions creaked again, and Sam imagined Bucky shifting his hips, thrusting up, just a little, into Steve’s mouth. Sam wished he were kissing him, feeling his breathing change as Steve took him deep.

Sam shook himself. He needed to get out of here, pronto. He turned and moved silently back down the hall, wincing a little at the friction of his soft pants against his hard-on. He leaned against the back of his bedroom door once he had it closed, to keep himself from marching out there and demanding from Bucky either an explanation or... something else.

Sam swallowed hard and took a couple deep breaths, trying to process the conversation he’d just overheard, but he couldn’t seem to get his brain to focus enough to block out Steve and Bucky’s low voices coming down the hall, a muffled laugh, the click of their bedroom door closing.

“Oh, fuck it,” Sam whispered finally and got back in bed.

He didn’t let himself hesitate; he reached for his dick, sighing in relief as he closed his calloused fingers around the shaft. That could be Bucky’s hand — his right hand — moving hesitantly at first, and then with more confidence, manipulating the head just right on every upstroke.

Or, Sam thought, it could be Bucky’s cock, hot and silky, in Sam’s hand. He had to bite down again, so he wouldn’t make a sound at the fantasy suddenly unfolding in his mind’s eye.

Bucky would be beside him in his bed, and, when Sam first touched him, he’d gasp like he had at the dinner table, only the tiny inhalation would be loud in Sam’s ear, his breath hot against his neck. Sam would tease him a little then, kneading his balls and drifting one wet finger back toward his hole. Bucky would ask for more with his body, would surge forward and thrust into Sam’s palm, and Sam would relent, settling into a steady, inevitable rhythm. He’d lick his palm and his fingers to get a good slide because he wouldn’t want to keep Bucky waiting long enough to dig out the lube from the bedside drawer.

Bucky would need it, need to come, need Sam to make it happen. His firm, deadly body would shiver as Sam licked up his neck, tense up when Sam bit his earlobe, and finally relax when Sam leaned in for a kiss. His stubble would scratch against Sam’s lips, gentle but with a touch of roughness, just like the dry rasp of cigarette smoke on Bucky’s tongue would cut against the sweetness of his deep, wet mouth. Metal fingers that would have gun callouses if they could would cup the back of Sam’s neck and pull him closer, then slide down to his ass and haul his hips forward until they were pressed together.

Sam came hard on that image, his back arching up as he sucked in a breath, his hand slick under the blankets, the hot pleasure moving in waves through his whole body, draining him empty but leaving him sated.

He opened his eyes after a moment, then promptly closed them again when they felt too heavy. His fingers were a sticky, cooling mess, but he knew sleep would come if he didn’t think too much and wake himself up, so he wiped his hand on the sheets and made a mental note to wash them tomorrow.

He rolled over and pulled the other pillow against his chest, angling his face into its surface. As he drifted into sleep, he imagined long hair brushing his nose, the soft nape of a neck against his lips, and metal fingers entwined with his.


	4. Chapter 4

In the morning, Sam’s alarm went off at the usual time, and it took him two snooze buttons to remember why he was so tired. All at once the memory of the previous week came back, and Sam shook his head, wondering when the hell his life had become a soap opera.

He could hear Steve moving around the house, and double-checked his phone. It was time for their run. The last few days, he’d just hidden in his room and waited for Steve to go without him, but today Sam actually got out of bed and got dressed.

He wanted the chance to talk to Steve, one-on-one. Not that he had any idea what he would say, but he wanted to try. If what he’d overheard last night was any indication, Steve might open up — and wasn’t that a strange notion — because Bucky was apparently too nervous. Sam felt a little thrill go through him at the thought that Bucky liked him enough to get nervous around him.

Steve had his hand on the front door knob when Sam stepped into the foyer. “Hey,” he said, sounding surprised. “Didn’t know if you were coming this morning. How are you doing?”

“Better,” Sam replied, lacing up his shoes, so he could get away with not looking Steve in the eye. “Haven’t been feeling all that great lately, sorry.”

“You were well enough to make cookies yesterday,” Steve protested, his tone suspicious.

Sam had almost forgotten about that. “Comfort food, man,” he answered with a forced laugh.

Steve didn’t look convinced, but Sam could see that he didn’t want to push it, either. “Fair enough. Ready?”

Sam nodded, and they headed down the front steps and across to the park. Steve chatted about the weather, about how autumn in New York really was the most gorgeous thing he’d ever seen — “Especially now that I can actually be outside in it without my allergies making life miserable” — but Sam was barely listening.

“Before you vanish,” he said finally, when they’d reached the mouth of the park’s running trail, “Do you want to get breakfast afterwards? My treat.”

Steve raised his eyebrows in surprise, and then he smiled. “Sure, sounds good.”

“Great,” Sam said quickly, relieved. “Where do you want to go?”

“Uh...” Steve fidgeted, shifting his weight to the balls of his feet and back.

“Think about it and run at the same time,” Sam sighed. Steve being impatient was at least familiar enough to ease the knot in his stomach. “Go on, get to lapping me.”

Steve shot him a grin and took off, even faster than usual. Sam fiddled with the fitness monitor on his wrist for a second, then he headed off as well, settling into a rhythm. He was relieved that they were running early enough in the day that Steve wouldn’t attract a crowd of onlookers.

“Denny’s?” Steve puffed in Sam’s left ear, a shockingly short amount of time later.

“No franchises,” Sam called after him.

On his next pass, Steve spun and ran backwards, almost slowly enough that Sam could catch up.  “How about that diner on Walnut?” he asked.

“The last time I went there, I got food poisoning,” Sam told him.

“Oh. Never mind,” Steve muttered, and he turned and took off again.

By Steve’s eighth lap around the park — 19 miles, by Sam’s count — they’d settled on the little cafe just up the street from their place, so they could stop at home for a quick shower and a change of clothes first. Sam reached his usual stopping point — 2 and a half laps, or about 5 miles in 50 minutes, he thought that was pretty damn good — and stretched his arms and legs, relishing the few minutes of every run where he got to wait for Steve to catch up.

Sam was glad, when they got back to the townhouse, that Bucky was still sleeping. He didn’t want to hurt his feelings by excluding him, but he also needed to talk to Steve alone before he even thought about attempting this whole double date/three-way thing that Bucky apparently wanted.

He used Bucky’s absence to broach the subject. “You don’t think Bucky would have wanted to come with us, do you?” he asked, after the waitress took their order.

Steve scoffed. “I don’t think Bucky would have wanted to be woken up for anything this morning.”

Sam smiled a little, trying to bolster his nerves. “Good, because there’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about.”

Steve set down his coffee, giving Sam his full attention.

“Bucky and I have been going out a lot lately,” Sam began, and he watched recognition and relief wash over Steve. “And, uh, I was starting to wonder if you felt like — if it seemed to you like I was—”

“No,” Steve interjected. “I know you’re not stealing him away.”

“Oh. Good,” Sam said again. He drummed his fingers against his mug in the sudden awkward silence.

“I didn’t know he told you,” Steve said after a moment.

“Not officially,” Sam admitted. “But it’s kind of obvious, now that I think about it.”

Steve smirked. “That’s what I told him.”

“I know. I, uh, sort of overheard you guys last night.”

Steve’s face went pink. “Oh.”

“I’m glad,” Sam went on. “I mean, I like him a lot, but I didn’t want to get between you two. I’ve, um, never shared somebody before.”

He added that last bit a little cautiously, gauging Steve’s reaction — he still wasn’t sure that was what they were doing. But Steve just smiled at Sam in his warm, familiar way.

“I have,” Steve replied softly, just as the waitress returned with their breakfast. As soon as she was out of earshot again, he continued, “Bucky shared me once, and I shared him once. We worked it out just fine.”

Sam took a bite of his waffles. “I’m going to assume you were with Peggy?”

Steve nodded.

“And who’d you share Bucky with?”

“Connie,” Steve replied, his eyes going fond. “She was his girl for quite a while.”

“What happened?”

Steve sighed. “He refused an honorable discharge after I got him out of Austria. When he told Connie, she didn’t take it very well. Wrote him a _Dear John_ — well, technically a _Dear James_ , but you get the idea.”

“That’s cold,” Sam commented, but Steve shook his head.

“She had a point. He should have gone home. If he had, none of—” Steve cut himself off abruptly. “Not that I blame him; it was his choice, and I would have done the same. We wanted to fight.”

They fell silent then. Steve’s eyes were cloudy with the past, and Sam watched him closely as he continued to eat. When Steve seemed to be returning to the here and now, Sam went on.

“But it was only the one time? That surprises me, I would have thought—”

Steve was already shaking his head again. “Bucky likes to flirt, but it takes somebody pretty special to hold his attention.”

Like you, Sam almost said. And me, apparently. The thought made Sam a little dizzy. “What was she like?” he asked to ground himself.

“Connie?” Steve smiled warmly. “Loyal, kind, beautiful. Smart as a whip. And funny — I remember she practically gave me an asthma attack one day, she got me laughing so hard.”

“I almost would have liked to have seen that.”

“Trust me, you wouldn’t,” Steve assured him. “But, funny as she was, Connie had a temper. A real firecracker.”

“So, you’re saying Bucky has a type,” Sam said wryly.

“I guess so, yeah,” Steve chuckled. “We’re it.”

Steve went back to his eggs, but Sam hesitated. That had sounded like a pretty clear declaration, but he needed to hear it one more time.

“We can do this, right?”

Steve looked up, thoughtful but still smiling. “I can only speak for myself, Sam,” he said. “But Bucky wants to, and I trust you, so — yeah, I think so. I’d like to try, anyway.”

Sam sighed in relief. “Me, too.”

“Good,” Steve replied. “Bucky’s got a big heart — you don’t know how much it means to me that, no matter what, HYDRA couldn’t take that away from him.”

“I think I might have an inkling,” Sam offered, spearing a strawberry off the top of his waffles and popping it into his mouth.

“Yeah,” Steve agreed softly. “Yeah, I suppose you would.”

Steve’s phone rang a few minutes later, startling them both. He pulled it out of his pocket and frowned down at it, then raised it to his ear.

“Rogers,” he said, which meant it was business.

Steve listened intently while Sam picked idly at what was left of his breakfast.

“Understood,” Steve declared finally. “See you soon.”

“Duty calls?” Sam asked, once Steve had put his phone away and started to shovel food into his mouth.

“Yeah, something big,” Steve said in a low voice between bites. “Fury needs me in England ASAP.”

“England?” Sam repeated, matching Steve’s hushed tone. “Is this a whole team thing?”

“No. Shadow conditions,” Steve replied, still somehow managing to sound very Captain America through a mouthful of bacon. “Me, Romanov, Barton, that’s it. Nat’s on her way to get me right now. Sorry, Sam.”

“Hey, no, I get it,” Sam said quickly. “Just get the job done and get home safe.”

Steve nodded. “That’s my plan.”

Sam was about to make some kind of joke about not jumping off any high places without him, but Steve drained his coffee and cursed under his breath.

“What’s wrong?” asked Sam.

“I just remembered — Bucky has another meeting with Stark tomorrow. I promised I’d go; they said they have news about his hand.” Steve set the mug down with a harsh thud. “He really shouldn’t be alone for that.”

“I’ll go,” Sam volunteered.

“You don’t have to,” Steve protested, but Sam knew it was only a reflex.

“I’ll go,” he repeated. “I’ve got the next few days off, and I don’t want him to be alone in this, either.”

Steve assessed him for a second, then nodded. “Right,” he agreed. “Okay. I’ve got to go.”

“Good luck,” Sam told him as Steve got to his feet.

Steve grabbed Sam’s hand and squeezed it. “Thank you, Sam,” he said earnestly.

And then he was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've been here since day 1, thanks for sticking with me through all the relationship talk -- behold your reward! (If you're just tuning in, welcome, glad you're here!)

When Sam got home, he found Bucky on the couch with a half-empty mug of coffee in front of him. He was texting, and he looked downright grumpy, so Sam assumed he was talking to Steve.

“Hey,” Sam greeted him. “You get the word?”

“Yeah,” Bucky growled. “Wish I was going with him.”

“You and me both,” Sam replied.

He took in Bucky’s appearance as he locked the door and took off his shoes. Bucky clearly hadn’t been out of bed long; he was barefoot, wearing a tight black t-shirt over grey sweats, and his hair was in a low ponytail that looked like a bird’s nest.

Bucky glanced up like he felt Sam’s eyes on him. “What are you smiling at, Fly Boy?”

Sam, making up his mind all at once, crossed the room in a few long strides. Bucky tensed up, the plates in his arm grinding and whirring, but Sam didn’t hesitate — he took the phone out of Bucky’s right hand and grabbed his left, running his fingers along the outside of Bucky’s forefinger and thumb the way he had the week before and eliciting the exact same tiny inhalation.

“Sam?” said Bucky uncertainly, but he didn’t pull away.

Sam moved his hand up Bucky’s arm to his shoulder, then along his neck until he could brush a piece of Bucky’s hair behind his ear and cup Bucky’s cheek. “You could have just told me,” he murmured.

Bucky relaxed, pressing his face into Sam’s palm. He raised his metal hand to cover Sam’s, interlacing their fingers. Sam inched closer, until he was standing fully between Bucky’s knees and rubbing Bucky’s thigh with his other hand. Now that he knew he was allowed, touching Bucky was all he wanted to do.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky breathed.

Sam angled Bucky’s face upwards as he lowered his own. “It’s okay,” he said against Bucky’s lips. “But we’ve been dating a while now. You owe me a lot of goodnight kisses.”

Sam caught a flash of Bucky’s grin before he kissed him — a chaste press of dry lips that was over much too soon. Sam tried to steal another one, but Bucky wouldn’t let him.

“First date, Wilson,” Bucky murmured. “Got to do this right.”

“Okay,” Sam agreed. He could be patient — he hoped.

Bucky eased Sam away enough that he could stand up, and then he kissed Sam deeper, his tongue slipping in and around Sam’s mouth. Bucky was both sweeter and rougher than Sam had imagined, his stubble scraping at his lips while the taste of the sugary coffee he’d been drinking flooded Sam’s senses.

Bucky’s metal arm slid around to rest along the curve of his ass. Sam made an involuntary noise at the contact, his knees weakening a little. His own hands clutched at Bucky’s sides, which was when Bucky broke the kiss and stepped back.

“Got to be a gentleman,” he said, his eyes still closed.

“Then where are my damn flowers?” Sam demanded, though the effect was ruined somewhat by the fact that he couldn’t seem to catch his breath.

Bucky’s eyes snapped open, and he laughed a little, pulling Sam close. Sam could feel Bucky’s cock, not hard but getting there, on the other side of the soft fabric of his pants. 

“You want flowers, sweetheart?” Bucky crooned. He started to wriggle his hips, making Sam gasp and close his eyes at the sudden, arousing friction. “Because I can get you some. Any kind you like.”

“Maybe later,” Sam managed to choke out.

Bucky chuckled again and kneaded Sam’s ass with his metal hand as he continued to move against him.

“That’s what I thought,” he growled into Sam’s neck, punctuating the sentence with small, sucking kisses around the collar of his shirt.

“Third date?” Sam asked after a minute. Bucky hummed affirmatively, so Sam started walking backwards. “Good, that means I can take you home.”

“You sure?” asked Bucky, even as he kept pace with Sam. “I wouldn’t want you to get a reputation for being fast.”

Sam laughed. “I think I can trust you to defend my honor,” he said, and he kissed Bucky again, just because he could.

“At least let me walk you to your door,” Bucky insisted.

When they reached it, Sam leaned back, letting Bucky crowd in and hold him there, pressing against him from knees to chest. Bucky kissed him, more thoroughly than he had in the living room, a little hungrier. Sam gave back to him in kind, shoving his tongue against Bucky’s, nibbling at his bottom lip when he came up for air.

Bucky wormed a hand behind them. Sam wondered what he was doing, then there was suddenly nothing at his back. He felt himself falling, but Bucky caught him almost immediately, boosting him up until Sam’s feet left the ground. Sam had no choice but to wrap his legs around Bucky’s hips and hang on while Bucky carried him into the bedroom like he weighed nothing.

“Was that really necessary?” Sam grumbled, once Bucky had put him on the bed.

“Probably not,” Bucky admitted, his eyes roving over Sam, spread out below him like a feast. “Efficient, though.”

“Definitely not complaining,” Sam agreed. “Now get over here.”

Bucky bit his bottom lip, pushing it forward against his teeth, and crawled up on the bed to straddle Sam’s hips. Sam closed his eyes and groaned when Bucky rubbed his right hand along the hard line of his erection.

“God, look at you,” Bucky murmured. “You have no idea the things I want to do with you, Sam.”

“I think I have some idea,” Sam protested. He lifted the hem of Bucky’s t-shirt, revealing a tantalizing stretch of bare skin. “Let’s get these clothes off.”

But Bucky grabbed the fabric away and tugged it back down, his face going ominously tight.

“What? What’s wrong?” asked Sam as he pulled back.

“Believe me, I want to,” Bucky replied earnestly. “But you might — it ain’t pretty,” he finished in a low voice, avoiding Sam’s eyes.

Sam chewed on the inside of his cheek. He didn’t care whether or not Bucky was pretty under that shirt, but saying _I don’t care_ right then probably wasn’t going to be helpful.

“It’s you,” Sam finally settled on saying. “All of you is pretty to me.”

The words sounded sappy as hell to Sam’s ears, but Bucky softened. He leaned down, bracing himself with his metal arm. Sam tilted his head back, and Bucky sucked at his neck again, probably leaving marks that Sam couldn’t bring himself to care about. He breathed in the clean scent of Bucky’s hair and mouthed at his ear, drunk on it, on Bucky in his bed.

Sam slipped his hands up the back of Bucky’s shirt, caressing the skin there, kneading at the tight muscle. Bucky raised his head and kissed Sam’s lips once more before levering himself up and pulling off his shirt in one smooth motion.

Sam stifled a gasp at the web of pink scars that emanated from Bucky’s metal shoulder. It looked painful, more like an open sore than an old injury. He raised his fingers without thinking, to trace the lines, like he could soothe this hurt. Bucky flinched, but let him explore.

“See?” he said after a few seconds, his mouth twisting bitterly. “Kind of a mood-killer, huh?”

Sam shook his head and dropped his hands. “I meant what I said,” he murmured. “You’re beautiful. All of you.”

Bucky looked like he was going to protest, so Sam sat up and kissed him silent. He broke away only long enough to squirm out of his own shirt, then pulled Bucky down again. Their bare skin was pressed together now, Bucky’s left elbow by Sam’s shoulder, his hand beside Sam’s face. Sam turned his head — wanting to prove to Bucky that all of him was perfect, was worthy of love and adoration — and caught Bucky’s metal fingers in his mouth. Bucky gasped above him, like Sam had hoped he would, when Sam ran his tongue along the outer edge of his forefinger and kissed the place where it met the thumb.

“You’re killing me, Fly Boy,” Bucky whispered harshly in Sam’s ear.

Sam hummed — good, he thought, that was what he was going for — and Bucky groaned as the vibration in the metal made Sam’s lips tingle. Bucky thrust forward, just a little, letting Sam feel his erection dragging against his own, even through the layers of their clothing.

Bucky didn’t protest when Sam slid his sweatpants down and then undid his own jeans. He all but moaned when Sam arranged them so that their cocks were alongside one another, and Sam nearly did too; even the dry, hot touch of skin on skin was exhilarating.

Sam had to take his mouth off Bucky’s hand to roll over enough to get to the nightstand, and Bucky raised himself to his knees, his dazed eyes blue-grey like the ocean in winter.

“What are you doing?” he mumbled.

Sam held up the bottle of lube he’d dug out of the drawer, and Bucky nodded. “Just don’t get any in my hand, it’s not good for the joints,” he instructed.

“I’ll be careful,” Sam assured him.

He let a generous amount drip into his palm and spread it over both his dick and Bucky’s, making Bucky throw his head back and thrust forward again. Sam’s breath caught in his throat, both at the sudden, slick sensation, and at the sight of Bucky so far gone, free of the tightness he seemed to carry with him all the time.

He wrapped his hand around Bucky’s cock and started stroking, his wet knuckles brushing against his own dick. “Is this okay?” he asked. “Or do you want something more?”

Bucky shook his head but didn’t speak, instead pushing his hips forward again. The hot skin of Bucky’s shaft slid alongside Sam’s, and Sam thrust up too, shifting his hand to get a grip on both of them.

“Tell me what you want, baby. I want to make you feel good,” Sam said, vaguely aware that he was babbling, but he didn’t care.

Bucky brushed Sam’s bottom lip with his metal thumb. Sam took it into his mouth and sucked hard, making Bucky pull in a ragged breath.

“Perfect,” he mumbled. “That’s perfect, sweetheart.”

Sam moved his tongue over Bucky’s thumb, lost in the sharp tang of the metal and the sounds that Bucky was making above him as he stroked both of their cocks at once, hitching his hips up as best he could under Bucky’s weight, trying to hold out against the pleasure as long as possible — he wanted to see Bucky’s face when he came.

He didn’t get to — the wave hit him all at once, forcing his eyes shut, and he was moaning around the metal in his mouth as he spurted over his fingers. From a distance, he heard Bucky following, felt a hot splash against his belly, so he kept up the pressure, kept stroking past the point where the sensation was just this side of too much, and he was trembling a little from the overstimulation. He stopped then, sinking into the mattress, his breathing still rough but smoothing out.

Some seconds or minutes later, Sam was dimly aware that Bucky was moving, pulling his thumb gently out of Sam’s mouth. Sam opened his eyes and watched as Bucky steadied himself with his left hand and took Sam’s hand away from their softening cocks with his right. He kissed Sam’s fingers, licking some of the mess away, then laid it down on Sam’s belly and climbed off the bed.

“Don’t move,” he said, like he really thought Sam could. “I’ll be right back.”

Sam nodded, his eyes tracking Bucky’s bare ass as he left the room.

Bucky returned with a warm damp cloth and wiped Sam down before climbing into bed with him. Sam moved over to give him room, but Bucky chased him, pulling him close, laying his head on Sam’s chest.

Sam tucked one arm behind his head and wrapped the other around Bucky. He gently freed Bucky’s hair from its elastic and combed through it with his fingers. Bucky sighed and leaned into the touch like a contented cat.

“So Steve told you?” he mumbled after several minutes of silence.

“Not exactly,” Sam replied. “He just confirmed a few things I overheard last night.”

Bucky hummed. “I should have fessed up sooner.”

“Maybe,” Sam conceded. “But maybe not. Just think: now we get to have five dates’ worth of sex all at once.”

Bucky laughed suddenly and kissed Sam’s neck. “I guess we’d better get on that, then.”

* * *

Sam couldn’t remember the last time he’d spent the day like this: in bed with a lover, no hurry, no need to put on clothes. Bucky was relaxed like Sam had never seen him, fluid against Sam’s body, skin pressed to skin pressed to metal. Eventually, they decided they needed to eat, so they ordered in, only getting dressed long enough that they wouldn’t scandalize the delivery drivers.

After dinner, Bucky kissed Sam up against the kitchen wall, spreading his thighs with his knee as he started to remove Sam's clothing.

“You need something?” Sam asked him wryly.

“I want,” Bucky began, but he seemed to lose his train of thought as he pulled the shirt over Sam's head. He kissed Sam’s neck and brought his hands up to caress Sam’s bare chest — it hadn’t taken him long to find out that that was a particularly sensitive area.

“You want?” Sam prompted, his eyes falling shut as Bucky lowered his head to lick at Sam’s right nipple. The wet roughness of his tongue, combined with the cooler, smooth metal against his flesh, was electric.

“I want to fuck you,” Bucky breathed, licking up Sam’s neck. Sam felt the brush of teeth against his earlobe when he spoke again. “Can I? Can we — is that something we can —?”

“Yes,” Sam replied firmly. “Yes. Take me back to bed.”

Bucky gave Sam a deep, lush kiss, lowering his hands to Sam’s hips and tugging him forward. When they got to the bedroom, Bucky pressed Sam’s upper back against another wall, and his hands massaged Sam’s ass. Sam thrust forward at the sensation; Bucky let him rut against his hip until he was fully hard, then spun them so that Sam’s back was to the bed.

“How do you want me?” Sam asked. He gulped; his mouth was suddenly dry. “It’s kind of been a while since I’ve done this.”

“Yeah, me too,” Bucky replied. “Maybe you should—”

“Wait,” Sam interrupted, confused. Of the two of them, Bucky was the one getting laid on the regular. “What do you mean, you too?”

Bucky looked away and shrugged. “Steve doesn’t like it much. We usually go the other way.”

“Oh,” said Sam, feeling his face heat with discomfort. That was none of his business, he thought, but then Bucky kissed him, and he realized that now it kind of was.

“But you do, right?” asked Bucky, sounding worried.

“Yeah,” Sam reassured him. “Yeah, I like it.”

Bucky’s eyes danced down Sam’s body and back up, and he grinned. “Well, then, what are we waiting for?”

Sam couldn’t think of a single thing.

And afterwards — after Bucky had opened him up and slid inside; after Bucky had reached around with his right hand to stroke Sam’s cock in time with his increasingly erratic rhythm; after Bucky’s metal fingers tightened on Sam’s hip and he’d come with a muffled cry against Sam’s sweaty shoulder — after all this and more, Sam drifted towards sleep in Bucky’s arms, glad that there was something that was his, just his, to give to Bucky.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just an FYI: Bucky meets with Dr. Cho and Tony in this chapter, and they operate on his arm. The description gets a little grisly, so if you're sensitive to that, skip a few paragraphs when Tony tells Bucky not to look.

Sam blinked open his eyes the next morning when he felt warm lips brush his forehead. Bucky was on his feet beside the bed, bending over him, shirtless in a pair of grey sweats.

“Sorry,” he said, and he looked it. “I let you sleep as late as I could.”

“It’s okay,” Sam mumbled. He sat up and winced his way into a comfortable position against the headboard.

Bucky watched him closely, his eyes narrowed in concern. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” Sam replied, stifling a yawn. “Not used to going a few rounds in the sack with a super soldier, I guess.”

“Did I hurt you?” Bucky asked, a frown creasing his forehead.

“No, no,” Sam said quickly. “I’m just a little stiff,” he added, giving Bucky a grin when he heard his accidental joke. “Remind me to stretch next time.”

Bucky smiled back, but it was oddly hesitant; yesterday’s confidence seemed to have dissipated. Sam wondered what could be bothering him, and then he remembered.

“Your appointment,” he gasped. “Shit. Are we late?”

“No, not even close,” Bucky reassured him. “You want a shower?”

Sam glanced down at himself then over at Bucky again. “You coming with me?”

Bucky nodded and pulled him to his feet.

* * *

Three hours later, Bucky hadn’t let go of Sam’s hand. They were in Stark’s lab, watching Dr. Cho — Helen, she told Sam to call her, but he couldn’t quite manage that — manipulate a bright blue holographic display of Bucky’s left arm.

“Hey, Robot. Bird Man,” Stark greeted them carelessly as he blew into the room. “No Capsicle today?”

“He’s out of town. I heard you have some news about Bucky’s arm,” Sam prompted. He ran his thumb along the knuckles of Bucky’s right hand, which earned him a quick, tight smile.

“Yes. The good news,” Dr. Cho began, “is that you won’t be needing brain surgery, Sergeant Barnes.”

Sam exhaled a breath he hadn’t known he was holding and grinned over at Bucky, but Bucky’s face was closed off again.

“The bad news,” Dr. Cho went on, “is that your arm will need extensive internal recalibration.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed — it was the only sign that he’d heard what the doctor had said.

“What does that mean?” Sam asked when it became apparent that Bucky wasn’t going to speak.

“It means, my fine feathered friend,” Tony chirped, indicating the display, “that all the sensors we need are already there and plugged into the right sockets. Which is good because I really didn’t want to go poking around in Barnes’s head.” He shuddered slightly. “Too messy.”

Bucky’s face twitched in a tiny flinch. “Tony,” Sam warned.

“You and Steve make quite a pair around him, you know that?” Stark commented, unruffled. “You’re like... badly dressed attack dogs.”

“Thanks.”

“Wasn’t a compliment,” Tony clarified. “And is anyone going to comment on the whole hand-holding thing?”

“No,” Sam said simply.

Tony shrugged. “Okay. Well, just so you know, Barnes, I didn’t mean it personally,” he explained. “I wouldn’t want to go poking around in anybody’s head. Give me wires and circuits over blood and brains any day.”

“That might be the closest I’ve ever heard you come to an apology,” Dr. Cho remarked with a wry smile, then she turned back to Sam and Bucky. “It took us a while to find the finger sensors, but they’re there. They’re just buried under, well, this.”

She flicked her wrist, and a nest of red nodes appeared in the hologram, almost completely hiding the blue sensors that Tony had pointed out.

“What is that?” Sam asked, squinting.

Dr. Cho sent Stark a worried glance, but neither of them spoke.

“Obedience fail-safes,” Bucky muttered into the silence.

“What?” Sam said, at the same time Tony exclaimed, “You knew?”

“I think Pierce said something about it to a technician once. Maybe in the eighties,” Bucky added, his eyes on the floor.

Sam felt a chill run down his spine. He’d known, of course, that HYDRA had played with Bucky’s body and brain like he was a machine, but hearing that they’d talked about him while they did it, like he wasn’t even in the room — that made it more real, somehow, and it made Sam sick. He took a little cold comfort in knowing that Alexander Pierce was dead, but it wasn’t enough; it probably wouldn’t ever be enough.

“You could have said something sooner,” Tony complained in a voice that sounded very much like Sam’s six-year-old niece on the verge of a pout. “I mean, I’m only trying to analyze one of the greatest technological inventions of the 20th century here.”

Bucky’s head snapped up — Sam wouldn’t have wanted to be on the receiving end of that glare.

“Gee, Mr. Stark,” Bucky began, his tone sarcastic and deadly, “I’m real sorry that I have fucking amnesia and my memories about being tortured don’t come up at regular intervals. That must be rough for you.”

“I didn’t,” Tony started to say, but he trailed off uncertainly.

Bucky glared a moment longer, then looked away and grumbled under his breath, letting out a string of what Sam assumed were Russian swear words. He really wanted to kiss Bucky calm, but he didn’t know if he could do that in front of Stark, so he settled for running his thumb over Bucky’s knuckles again.

It was a small motion — Bucky was squeezing Sam’s hand almost to the point of pain — but Bucky noticed, loosening his grip at once and turning to Sam, his face contrite. “Jesus, I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Sam shook his head and kept massaging Bucky’s hand with his own. After a few seconds, Bucky seemed to relax, and the room breathed a collective sigh of relief.

“We’ll likely have to remove this entire apparatus to get to the finger sensors,” Dr. Cho went on. “It’ll take us a while, but—”

“It’s for the best,” Tony cut in confidently.

He spread his hands in the holographic display, expanding it until it filled the entire space with glittering wires, gears, and circuitry.

“Removing the fail-safes,” Dr. Cho began hesitantly. “It won’t be easy, Sergeant Barnes. As you can see, the parts are quite intricately linked.”

“It’s beautiful, really,” said Tony, his eyes dancing along the bright, colorful images. “Years ahead of my tech; although, if I could learn a few things from studying the schematics, that won’t be the case for long.” He paused thoughtfully. “You know, Stark Industries experimented with prosthetic limbs in the early days, but the project never went anywhere.”

“Or it went here,” Sam muttered darkly. “Look, can you do it or not?”

“Can we? Yes. Probably,” Tony amended, still not looking Sam’s way. “ _Should we_ is a different question.”

“What do you mean?” asked Sam.

“It’s going to take hours,” Dr. Cho reiterated seriously. Sam appreciated the fact that she was speaking to Bucky first and foremost. “We won’t be able to anesthetize you, Sergeant. You’ll have to be awake to gauge the progress.”

Bucky nodded once, nothing more than bare acknowledgement. Sam looked to Tony to elaborate.

“What she’s saying,” he explained to Bucky, “is that it’ll be uncomfy, if not downright painful at times. We might need to trip some alarms.”

“I don’t suppose you know what they do, do you?” Dr. Cho asked gently.

Bucky shook his head. It was barely perceptible, but it was an answer.

“We don’t have to do it,” Dr. Cho reminded him softly. “Your hand and arm are perfectly functional, even without the advanced sensation in your fingers. Also, given that they haven’t activated yet, I think it’s safe to say that the fail-safes aren’t causing any harm. We can leave it all well enough alone, if you’d rather.”

Bucky stayed silent, his jaw clenched, his eyes blinking rapidly. After a moment, he looked over at Sam uncertainly, and Sam couldn’t help wondering if Steve would have said something, tried to sway Bucky one way or the other. If nothing else, Steve would probably be arguing more with Tony, maybe pacing through the holograms, asking more questions.

But Steve wasn’t there. Sam was, and Sam wasn’t going to say a word. This was completely Bucky’s decision to make.

“Sergeant?” Dr. Cho prompted after two full minutes of silence.

Bucky took a deep breath. “I want,” he began, and Sam could see the strain those two small words were putting on him. “Feel human,” he finished with a small exhalation.

“I can get behind that,” Tony replied, sounding surprisingly empathetic. Sam looked up to see him touching the center of his chest where the arc reactor used to be. “I’d be kind of a hypocrite if I didn’t.”

“Today?” asked Bucky suddenly. “Can you do it today?”

Dr. Cho glanced up from her clipboard. “I’m sorry?”

Bucky gave her a weak smile. “Before I lose my nerve?”

“JARVIS,” Tony called in the direction of the ceiling. “Do we have anything scheduled today that can’t move to tomorrow?”

“No, Sir. Though Ms. Potts may be less than overjoyed about your cancelled luncheon. Again,” the disembodied voice emphasized.

“Send her some flowers at the office.”

“Which kind, Sir?”

Tony then began to argue with his AI about the types of flowers that Pepper liked; Sam tuned them out. He looked to Bucky, who was still holding his hand a little too tightly.

“You okay?” Sam asked him.

Bucky nodded and shifted a little closer, until their thighs were touching. “Thanks for being here,” he whispered.

Sam let go long enough to brush some hair away from Bucky’s face, then pressed their forearms together and re-entwined their fingers. “I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

* * *

Dr. Cho led Bucky across the lab to what looked like an old leather dentist’s chair. Bucky hesitated only once before settling into it and laying his wrists gently along the armrests like he expected something to happen.

Dr. Cho moved slowly around Bucky — Sam got the impression she was trying to telegraph every motion, so she wouldn’t startle him, and he appreciated the effort — while Tony stayed off to the side. Dr. Cho helped Bucky remove his shirt, then hooked up a heart monitor. Her assistant, an intern named Margaret, came over with an oxygen tube, but Bucky flinched violently when she got near his face.

“Okay, okay,” Dr. Cho said gently, waving the intern away. “It was just a precaution anyway.”

She kept talking after that, telling Bucky everything she was doing as she set up an IV drip. She even told him the exact chemical compounds of the sedative she was administering; it wouldn’t put him to sleep, since Tony needed him awake, but it would relax him and help him to stay still.

“You metabolize drugs almost as fast as Captain Rogers; I’m not certain I could knock you out, even if I wanted to,” she admitted with a little chuckle.

“I’m sure you could think of something,” Bucky replied with a wavering smile, his voice a shadow of its usual tone and volume.

Dr. Cho finished up and gave Bucky’s right arm a reassuring pat. Bucky beckoned Sam close, so he pulled up a chair and took Bucky’s hand, mindful of the catheter. As the sedative kicked in and Tony got to work, Bucky leaned over slightly, resting his head on Sam’s shoulder.

“Don’t look, Barnes,” Tony ordered when he’d shifted the plates of the arm enough to get at the internal workings.

Bucky nodded and squeezed his eyes shut, even though he was facing away, but Sam’s eyes kept being drawn back to Bucky’s other side. He shifted forward just a hair and grimaced when he realized that he was looking at what remained of Bucky’s arm.

Sam was no stranger to battlefield injuries; he’d seen a few amputated limbs first hand, but this was an old, mottled wound that he could tell had never been treated right. The scarring was too deep, the pink flesh puckered and withdrawn; Sam wondered if it had been gangrenous by the time HYDRA attached the metal arm all those years ago.

The metal looked almost natural at the top of the shoulder, running smoothly into the skin, but below that, tines of varying sizes were digging into the short, thin stump — too small to have ever been Bucky’s arm, Sam thought, though it clearly was — sticking out like a spider’s legs from its body. There were raised ridges under the skin, too, no doubt marking the cables that carried vital information up into Bucky’s brain.

Sam leaned back again to get a glimpse of the whole, now that the shock had worn off a little. Stark had been right, Sam realized: the arm, even the mess of flesh and metal on the inside, was oddly beautiful. Though Sam had always thought so.

“Pretty nasty, huh,” Bucky mumbled into Sam’s shirt.

“No,” Sam answered soothingly, and he settled back in his chair. He reached over and carded his fingers through Bucky’s hair.

“I think you ought to get your eyes checked, Wilson,” Bucky said after a minute.

He sounded like he was dozing, which was perfectly fine with Sam, but Tony had other ideas.

“Come on, Sergeant, look alive,” he said.

Bucky jerked up, his temple nearly colliding with Sam’s chin, turning toward Tony instinctively. Sam raised his hand to block Bucky’s sight, then nudged his head back down to his shoulder.

“Arm’s still open,” he reminded him.

“Right,” Bucky murmured. “Thanks.”

“Okay, here we go,” said Tony. “I need you to tell me what you feel, okay, Barnes? I’m starting slow, just going to cut this—”

Bucky twitched suddenly, and everyone in the room froze.

“Did that hurt?” asked Dr. Cho.

“A little,” Bucky admitted. “But keep going.”

Tony did, and Bucky stopped twitching, though his hand tightened around Sam’s every time Tony dug a little deeper, severed more connections, removed more wiring. Dr. Cho monitored his heart rate and checked in with him regarding his pain levels every few minutes, while Margaret moved around them, taking pieces from Tony’s hands to a table behind them.

“Oh, set that aside,” Tony would mutter occasionally. “That could prove very, very useful.”

“Almost done,” Dr. Cho said as she checked Bucky’s vitals at the three hour mark.

“Good,” Bucky breathed. “Because I think I’m starting to—”

Bucky screamed suddenly and snapped back from Sam, his shoulder blades hitting the chair with an audible smack. His eyes rolled up, leaving just the whites, as his voice cut out and his body started to convulse.

Sam leapt to his feet, instinct and training taking over. He stepped out of the reach of Bucky’s thrashing right hand and cupped the back of Bucky’s skull, cushioning it from the hard headrest. He had started counting in his head — because he knew things would get real bad if the seizure lasted more than five minutes — before he was even consciously aware of what was happening.

“JARVIS, now would be good,” Tony barked, and heavy restraints snapped up from the underside of the chair’s armrest and clicked into place, holding Bucky’s metal arm more or less still.

Sam, still counting, watched Tony work quickly to disassemble more internal pieces and realized with a sick sense of dread that, though he’d been caught off-guard, Stark hadn’t. Bucky’s seizure ended — after almost four minutes — when Tony lifted a small square of metal trailing wires out of the arm.

“There,” he announced with a sharp sigh. “Sorry, buddy, but I swear that’ll never happen again.”

Sam laid Bucky’s head down before he moved, closing the distance between him and Stark in three long strides. He shoved Tony back against the table and wrapped his hands so tightly around Tony’s wrists that he could feel every tendon.

“Hey, ow,” Tony protested, but Sam hardly heard him.

“What the hell were you thinking, doing that on purpose?”

“It’s called taking a calculated risk, Wilson,” Tony argued. “I thought you of all people would understand—”

“You gave him a seizure! With everything they’ve done to his brain, do you have any idea how dangerous that could be?”

“Sam,” said Dr. Cho softly, laying a hand on his forearm.

Sam drew in a few shaking breaths, then let Tony go and snatched the device from his hands. He briefly considered throwing it against the wall, just to watch it shatter, but eventually he turned and set it on the table with the other pieces of hardware, then stalked away. He paced the lab, his fists clenched at his sides, feeling the doctor's eyes on him.

“Sam,” Dr. Cho repeated after a few minutes. “I know this may be hard to grasp, but it really was the best course of action.”

“Calculated risk, like I said,” Tony muttered. “We had to trip the alarm to find the active parts, so I could make sure to get them all.”

“I can assure you that there’ll be no lasting damage,” the doctor added. “Sergeant Barnes—”

“Bucky,” Bucky mumbled from behind them. Sam whirled around to see a dopey smile spreading across Bucky’s slack face. “Ain’t been a sergeant for a while now, Doc.”

Sam went straight to his side. “Hi,” he said softly, picking up Bucky’s right hand and squeezing it.

“Hey, Fly Boy,” Bucky greeted him languidly.

“You scared me there. How’re you doing?”

“Sorry. Sleepy.”

He squeezed back, and then his hand went limp, and his eyes closed. Sam watched him closely, counting his breaths and looking for signs of distress. When he was satisfied, he looked up.

“Thanks, Tony, Dr. Cho. Sorry, I — overreacted.”

“No apology needed,” Dr. Cho assured him, as Tony gave him a curt nod.

“A little warning might have been nice,” Sam added, looking hard at Tony. “You know Steve might have killed you if he were here instead of me, right?”

Tony scrunched up his face in something like a pout. “Okay, fair point. Can I go back to work now?”

Sam took another deep breath and nodded, not that Tony needed his permission. He rubbed Bucky’s forearm, waking him gently, so Tony could get on with it. Bucky blinked up at Sam with bleary eyes, then shifted so that he could rest his head on Sam’s shoulder again.

“Ready for the last part?” asked Dr. Cho.

“Ready,” Bucky affirmed, and Tony went back to the arm.


	7. Chapter 7

After the procedure, Sam took Bucky out for dinner and then home, thinking he’d want to sleep, but instead Bucky roamed the house, touching everything with his left hand. He even stuck it in the freezer, just to wince in pain when it frosted over a minute later.

“That was dumb,” he muttered, and Sam laughed.

They ended up in bed soon after that, Bucky declaring that he wanted to touch every inch of Sam’s body. He brushed the back of his hand against Sam’s cheek, ran his fingers along the sparse hair that led down from his belly button, rested Sam’s foot on his shoulder and caressed the inside of his right leg.

Sam watched in wonder as Bucky’s metal fingers worked their way up to the crease of his thigh — so gently Sam could barely feel it — then slipped over to his cock. Sam wasn’t hard, but when Bucky hesitated, he nodded his assent. Sam knew this wasn’t about sex.

Regardless, Bucky’s careful touches and murmurs about how good Sam felt had Sam squirming with desire before long, and Bucky bent his head to close his mouth around the tip of Sam’s dick while he worked his hand along the shaft, kissing his metal fist. Sam sighed contentedly as everything faded away except Bucky’s touch.

Bucky asked to fuck him after, and Sam nodded again. Bucky slicked him up and slid inside, just as slow and careful as last time, and Sam lifted his legs up, tucking his knees under Bucky’s arms. Bucky made a grateful-sounding noise as he started to move in earnest. Sam watched the tension drain from Bucky’s face as sweat broke out on his forehead, watched the fear and stress of the day spill out as Bucky came inside him with a quiet groan.

Sam fought to keep his eyes open after Bucky pulled out, and he was all but dozing by the time Bucky returned from the bathroom and lay down beside him. Still, as he settled into Bucky’s embrace, he heard Bucky whisper something. He wanted to ask what it was, but he was asleep before he could open his mouth.

* * *

The sun hadn’t even come up yet when Sam opened his eyes again, but Bucky was gone, and the bed was cold. Sam got up right away, a little concerned, and padded down the hall. When he got to the foyer and noticed Bucky’s jacket and shoes missing, his mild worry kicked up into alarm.

He pulled his own coat over his pyjamas and started cramming his bare feet into his shoes, but then he heard Bucky laugh on the other side of the door. Sam went to the window and found that Bucky had gone no further than the stoop, where he was smoking a cigarette with his left hand and talking on his phone.

A queer feeling started up in Sam’s belly as he divested himself of his jacket and shoes. Was this what sharing Bucky was going to be like, he wondered: empty beds and private conversations?

Bucky came inside a few minutes later and jumped a little in surprise at seeing Sam sitting on the couch waiting for him.

“Hey,” Bucky said. “You’re up early. What’s going on?”

Sam forced himself out of his negative thoughts and dredged up a smile. “Nothing. How’s Steve?”

But Bucky wouldn’t be distracted. “He’s fine. He’ll be home in a few hours. How are you?”

Sam got to his feet and stretched, avoiding Bucky’s eyes. “Tired. I think I’ll go for a run.”

He tried to brush past Bucky and head back to his bedroom, but Bucky stopped him with a hand on his wrist.

“Sam,” he said. “You don’t have to go just because he’s coming back.”

“I wasn’t—” Sam began, but Bucky silenced him with a look.

“I know this is new and probably a little weird,” he went on. “But you have to know you’re just as important to me as he is. When Steve gets home, we’ll sit down, the three of us, and figure it out, okay?”

Sam hesitated, thinking hard. “When Steve gets home...” he repeated uncertainly.

Everything would change when Steve got home. They’d be a triangle, or a V, or whatever this thing between them was going to be called, and that _was_ new and weird, not to mention a little scary.

But, he realized suddenly, maybe it wouldn’t be that different after all. They’d still be wrapped up in each other’s lives. They’d still matter to one another. He and Steve would still trust each other; Bucky would still have a big heart. Steve would still be stubborn enough not to give up on something he wanted, on someone he loved. And Sam...

Just like that, Sam saw it as clearly as he saw Bucky’s earnest face in front of him: this was love. Nothing else could be so complicated and simple at the same time.

“Okay,” he said finally.

Bucky grinned at him like he’d made the sun rise and leaned in to kiss Sam, slowly and tenderly. He brought his metal fingers up to massage the nape of Sam’s neck, where the muscle was tense. Sam felt his body reacting, rearranging itself to press into Bucky’s touch, Bucky’s lips, which still carried the bittersweet cigarette taste that was starting to get deliciously familiar.

Sam got a little lost in Bucky’s mouth, so he only realized Bucky had been walking him backwards toward the sofa when his calves collided with soft fabric. He sat, expecting Bucky to crawl up into his lap, but instead he nudged Sam to the right and curled up beside him. He took Sam’s hand, the metal flashing as he brought Sam’s fingers up to his lips.

“I’m beat,” he murmured. “Only crazy people get up this early.”

“Hey,” Sam protested good-naturedly.

“Yes, I am talking about you and Steve,” Bucky clarified with a yawn.

Sam chuckled. “We could go back to bed if you wanted.”

“Too far,” Bucky replied, snuggling into his chest.

“Okay,” Sam said.

He kissed the top of Bucky’s head and settled deeper into the cushions. After a quiet minute, Sam felt his own fatigue returning, aided by the warm body half on top of him. Bucky shifted against him, snaking an arm under Sam to hold him a little tighter, and Sam was overcome with a small but powerful joy. He took Bucky’s left hand and raised it to his mouth, kissing each fingertip, tracing an imaginary heart line across the plates of his palm.

“I can feel that,” Bucky murmured.

“Me, too,” Sam replied.


	8. Epilogue

Steve headed up the walkway, practically bounding up the front steps, only to find the door locked.

“Right,” he muttered and started digging for his keys.

He should have guessed. From what Bucky had told him a couple hours ago, he and Sam would both be asleep by now. That was for the best, Steve thought; he could shower, change, send some emails, and maybe take a nap. Super soldier or not, jetlag from Europe was still a bitch.

He pushed the door open and carefully set his gear down just inside before he noticed that Bucky was awake on the couch, watching him from where he was cuddled up against Sam’s sleeping form.

 _Welcome home_ , Bucky mouthed at him; he was the only person alive who remembered that, before the serum, Steve had had years of practice reading lips. _Everything go all right?_

Steve nodded silently. He pulled his keys out of the door and closed it before he stepped out of his shoes and removed his jacket. When he looked over again, Bucky was waving him forward with his metal fingers.

Steve never could resist Bucky’s beckons. He moved soundlessly across the room and crouched down so he could give Bucky a soft, lingering kiss. Then he settled on the floor with his back against the couch and sighed with the comfort of coming home after a hard day.

Above and behind him, Bucky was shifting on the sofa. A second later, his metal hand appeared in Steve’s peripheral vision. Steve froze involuntarily, but the hand only brushed through his hair — gentle, so gentle.

After a minute, Steve rolled his head, looking up into Bucky’s face. He raised his eyebrows in Sam’s direction, only to be rewarded with the rare treat of seeing Bucky blush in return.

“Well,” Steve said with a grin as he leaned back into Bucky’s loving touch. “It’s about time.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's stuck with me for this journey! Stay tuned for the sequel. 
> 
> If you're interested, you can come find me on [Tumblr](http://mrsdawnaway.tumblr.com).


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